"Thank Him indeed," said Mr. Pembroke, laying a hand on his back.
"We"ve been nearly as great as the Greeks, I do believe. Greater, I"m sure, than the Italians, though they did get closer to beauty. Greater than the French, though we do take all their ideas. I can"t help thinking that England is immense. English literature certainly."
Mr. Pembroke removed his hand. He found such patriotism somewhat craven.
Genuine patriotism comes only from the heart. It knows no parleying with reason. English ladies will declare abroad that there are no fogs in London, and Mr. Pembroke, though he would not go to this, was only restrained by the certainty of being found out. On this occasion he remarked that the Greeks lacked spiritual insight, and had a low conception of woman.
"As to women--oh! there they were dreadful," said Rickie, leaning his hand on the chapel. "I realize that more and more. But as to spiritual insight, I don"t quite like to say; and I find Plato too difficult, but I know men who don"t, and I fancy they mightn"t agree with you."
"Far be it from me to disparage Plato. And for philosophy as a whole I have the greatest respect. But it is the crown of a man"s education, not the foundation. Myself, I read it with the utmost profit, but I have known endless trouble result from boys who attempt it too soon, before they were set."
"But if those boys had died first," cried Rickie with sudden vehemence, "without knowing what there is to know--"
"Or isn"t to know!" said Mr. Pembroke sarcastically.
"Or what there isn"t to know. Exactly. That"s it."
"My dear Rickie, what do you mean? If an old friend may be frank, you are talking great rubbish." And, with a few well-worn formulae, he propped up the young man"s orthodoxy. The props were unnecessary. Rickie had his own equilibrium. Neither the Revivalism that a.s.sails a boy at about the age of fifteen, nor the scepticism that meets him five years later, could sway him from his allegiance to the church into which he had been born. But his equilibrium was personal, and the secret of it useless to others. He desired that each man should find his own.
"What does philosophy do?" the propper continued. "Does it make a man happier in life? Does it make him die more peacefully? I fancy that in the long-run Herbert Spencer will get no further than the rest of us.
Ah, Rickie! I wish you could move among the school boys, and see their healthy contempt for all they cannot touch!" Here he was going too far, and had to add, "Their spiritual capacities, of course, are another matter." Then he remembered the Greeks, and said, "Which proves my original statement."
Submissive signs, as of one propped, appeared in Rickie"s face.
Mr. Pembroke then questioned him about the men who found Plato not difficult. But here he kept silence, patting the school chapel gently, and presently the conversation turned to topics with which they were both more competent to deal.
"Does Agnes take much interest in the school?"
"Not as much as she did. It is the result of her engagement. If our naughty soldier had not carried her off, she might have made an ideal schoolmaster"s wife. I often chaff him about it, for he a little despises the intellectual professions. Natural, perfectly natural. How can a man who faces death feel as we do towards mensa or tupto?"
"Perfectly true. Absolutely true."
Mr. Pembroke remarked to himself that Frederick was improving.
"If a man shoots straight and hits straight and speaks straight, if his heart is in the right place, if he has the instincts of a Christian and a gentleman--then I, at all events, ask no better husband for my sister."
"How could you get a better?" he cried. "Do you remember the thing in "The Clouds"?" And he quoted, as well as he could, from the invitation of the Dikaios Logos, the description of the young Athenian, perfect in body, placid in mind, who neglects his work at the Bar and trains all day among the woods and meadows, with a garland on his head and a friend to set the pace; the scent of new leaves is upon them; they rejoice in the freshness of spring; over their heads the plane-tree whispers to the elm, perhaps the most glorious invitation to the brainless life that has ever been given.
"Yes, yes," said Mr. Pembroke, who did not want a brother-in-law out of Aristophanes. Nor had he got one, for Mr. Dawes would not have bothered over the garland or noticed the spring, and would have complained that the friend ran too slowly or too fast.
"And as for her--!" But he could think of no cla.s.sical parallel for Agnes. She slipped between examples. A kindly Medea, a Cleopatra with a sense of duty--these suggested her a little. She was not born in Greece, but came overseas to it--a dark, intelligent princess. With all her splendour, there were hints of splendour still hidden--hints of an older, richer, and more mysterious land. He smiled at the idea of her being "not there." Ansell, clever as he was, had made a bad blunder. She had more reality than any other woman in the world.
Mr. Pembroke looked pleased at this boyish enthusiasm. He was fond of his sister, though he knew her to be full of faults. "Yes, I envy her,"
he said. "She has found a worthy helpmeet for life"s journey, I do believe. And though they chafe at the long engagement, it is a blessing in disguise. They learn to know each other thoroughly before contracting more intimate ties."
Rickie did not a.s.sent. The length of the engagement seemed to him unspeakably cruel. Here were two people who loved each other, and they could not marry for years because they had no beastly money. Not all Herbert"s pious skill could make this out a blessing. It was bad enough being "so rich" at the Silts; here he was more ashamed of it than ever.
In a few weeks he would come of age and his money be his own. What a pity things were so crookedly arranged. He did not want money, or at all events he did not want so much.
"Suppose," he meditated, for he became much worried over this,--"suppose I had a hundred pounds a year less than I shall have. Well, I should still have enough. I don"t want anything but food, lodging, clothes, and now and then a railway fare. I haven"t any tastes. I don"t collect anything or play games. Books are nice to have, but after all there is Mudie"s, or if it comes to that, the Free Library. Oh, my profession! I forgot I shall have a profession. Well, that will leave me with more to spare than ever." And he supposed away till he lost touch with the world and with what it permits, and committed an unpardonable sin.
It happened towards the end of his visit--another airless day of that mild January. Mr. Dawes was playing against a scratch team of cads, and had to go down to the ground in the morning to settle something. Rickie proposed to come too.
Hitherto he had been no nuisance. "You will be frightfully bored," said Agnes, observing the cloud on her lover"s face. "And Gerald walks like a maniac."
"I had a little thought of the Museum this morning," said Mr. Pembroke.
"It is very strong in flint arrow-heads."
"Ah, that"s your line, Rickie. I do envy you and Herbert the way you enjoy the past."
"I almost think I"ll go with Dawes, if he"ll have me. I can walk quite fast just to the ground and back. Arrowheads are wonderful, but I don"t really enjoy them yet, though I hope I shall in time."
Mr. Pembroke was offended, but Rickie held firm.
In a quarter of an hour he was back at the house alone, nearly crying.
"Oh, did the wretch go too fast?" called Miss Pembroke from her bedroom window.
"I went too fast for him." He spoke quite sharply, and before he had time to say he was sorry and didn"t mean exactly that, the window had shut.
"They"ve quarrelled," she thought. "Whatever about?"
She soon heard. Gerald returned in a cold stormy temper. Rickie had offered him money.
"My dear fellow don"t be so cross. The child"s mad."
"If it was, I"d forgive that. But I can"t stand unhealthiness."
"Now, Gerald, that"s where I hate you. You don"t know what it is to pity the weak."
"Woman"s job. So you wish I"d taken a hundred pounds a year from him.
Did you ever hear such blasted cheek? Marry us--he, you, and me--a hundred pounds down and as much annual--he, of course, to pry into all we did, and we to kowtow and eat dirt-pie to him. If that"s Mr. Rickety Elliot"s idea of a soldier and an Englishman, it isn"t mine, and I wish I"d had a horse-whip."
She was roaring with laughter. "You"re babies, a pair of you, and you"re the worst. Why couldn"t you let the little silly down gently? There he was puffing and sniffing under my window, and I thought he"d insulted you. Why didn"t you accept?"
"Accept?" he thundered.
"It would have taken the nonsense out of him for ever. Why, he was only talking out of a book."
"More fool he."
"Well, don"t be angry with a fool. He means no harm. He muddles all day with poetry and old dead people, and then tries to bring it into life.
It"s too funny for words."
Gerald repeated that he could not stand unhealthiness.
"I don"t call that exactly unhealthy."
"I do. And why he could give the money"s worse."
"What do you mean?"